


My Name is Whatever You Call Me

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Cum Inflation, Cum Play, Knotting, M/M, Marking, PWP, Possessive!Derek, Stiles has a werewolf kink, Stiles/OMC - Freeform, a pwp that developed plot and then Feelings, capital F necessary, claiming/mating, except somewhere along the way some plot snuck in, jealous!Derek, not a lot but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles may or may not bring a werewolf home with him one night. Derek may or may not have a major problem with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name is Whatever You Call Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm working on two other Sterek fics, but I got super sidetracked by the need to write some knotting. This is the result. I'll try to post one of the other fics soon; it's a one-shot and it's almost done. The other is a super long, super emotional piece, and im 19k into it. It'll be a little while before that one is finished, but keep an eye out for it if you like my writing. 
> 
> Let the porn commence!

In hindsight, Stiles really should have realized the guy was a werewolf. But in his defense, he may or may not have been really drunk the night before, and if there were any signs of wolfishness they obviously went way over his head.

Because the guy (werewolf) is currently standing in Stiles’ kitchen, completely naked, and looking right at home in the way no one night stand should.

Stiles’ head isn’t pounding too frantically thank god, but he does feel a little sluggish the way he always does after a night of drinking, and he’s pretty sure he picked this guy up at the bar he was at last night. He can’t be positive though, his memories are hazy at best.

From Stiles’ vantage point he can tell the guy is pretty damn fine; broad shoulders, muscled back, narrow hips, and one of the nicer cocks Stiles has ever had the pleasure of seeing. Damn, and he can’t even remember it being in him (he knows it was in him, because there are bruises on his hips and his ass is still a little sore). The werewolf doesn’t stop scrambling eggs on Stiles’ stove, even though he obviously knows Stiles is watching him, and he takes the time to drink in blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun and smooth, sharp cheeks. Not his usual type. Beside the werewolf part, that is.

He knows the dude is a werewolf because he watched him scent the room a minute ago and because of the way his body moves; strength coiled under hard muscles, easy and flowing. He’d recognize the supernatural anywhere. Except, apparently, when he’s drunk.

Blonde werewolf guy seems to get bored waiting for Stiles to make the first move, because he turns and smiles over his shoulder. His eyes are bright blue and laughing, but there’s a cruelness in the cant of his jaw and the twist of his lips, both of which Stiles pairs up to the throbbing bite mark on his shoulder. (It may or may not have also clued him into the whole werewolf thing too.)

“Morning,” the guy says, voice relaxed and calm.

Stiles continues to stare at him for a moment. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt when he’d rolled out of bed, just threw on some sweatpants, but he’s regretting it because of the way those blue eyes trail over his body hungrily. “Morning,” he replies, leaving just enough of a pause for it to be obvious he’s not exactly happy with the situation.

The werewolf doesn’t waver, just continues smiling as he turns back to the stove. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.”

No matter how hard he racks his brain, Stiles can’t remember the guy’s name. He tells him as much, and the werewolf laughs like he’s being particularly charming or coy.

“You remembered it just fine last night,” he leers almost playfully (almost), and then adds, “it’s Michael.”

Stiles is waking up in increments, but he thinks his brain is finally back online, and he’s getting the impression that Michael is bad news. God damn it drunk!Stiles, you have the absolute worst taste in men. He absently touches the bite on his shoulder, and flinches at the gentle scrape of his fingers against the sensitive skin. Michael’s head comes up instantly, and then he’s dragging Stiles into the kitchen by his wrist, backing him up against the counters.

“Mmm,” he breathes, his nose dragging down Stiles’ neck and right up to the bite mark. “Should I make it fresh?” His tone of voice makes it sound like it should be an attractive offer, like Stiles should be begging to get bitten again, but in reality it just makes him shiver.

“Look,” he starts, wriggling one hand between them so he can push against Michael’s (incredibly broad and bare) chest, not that it does him a lot of good. Fucking werewolves. “You should probably go, Michael. I’ve got a pack and they’re not going to be happy if they find you hanging around.”

Not happy isn’t even going to cover it. Stiles already knows they’re going to be completely pissed at him the moment they smell Michael all over him and his shit. He doesn’t even know if Michael is an omega, or a beta from another pack, but it won’t matter. Beacon Hills is Hale territory, and Stiles is part of the Hale pack. Even drunk him should have known better than to drag an unknown wolf home with him.

He blames his stupid, desperate crush on Derek. It’s been festering since he was sixteen, but he’s twenty two now and last night he’d pretty much accepted the fact that he was in love with the dark, brooding idiot, and the ensuing pity fest he threw at the bar in the next town over could probably explain Michael’s presence. In his drunken loneliness he’d probably figured one werewolf was as good as the next, or maybe he’d been trying some weird attempt to get Derek’s attention. Well, he’ll certainly have it now. That, and an hour long rant and maybe some future silent treatment.

Stiles is already resigning himself his fate when Michael lets out a low, threatening growl.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, eyes flashing gold when he leans back to glare at Stiles, and wow yeah this was such a bad idea holy shit.

When Stiles doesn’t make any move to get away (he’s not an idiot okay? Michael’s got him pinned up against the counter and if he struggles he’s fairly certain the wolf will just bite him into submission and he’d rather not come out of this looking like a fucking chew toy) Michael lets out a huff and then leans in, prying Stiles’ lips apart with his own to thrust a feverishly hot tongue into his mouth. It’s harsh and demanding and Stiles has to resist the urge to bite down or pull away.

The growl turns more into a pleased rumble and Michael breaks the kiss, looking decidedly smug with himself as he rubs his face against Stiles’. “Good boy,” he purrs, and Stiles actually has to bite his lip at that to keep from reacting, it’s so fucking creepy and gross. Not that he has any aversion to being praised or called boy, he just hates the way the words sound in Michael’s voice, the way his hot breath feels on Stiles’ face and in his mouth.

The moment Michael lets up a little, Stiles eels away with a false, high-pitched laugh. “Right,” he says, whirling around to keep the wolf in his line of sight, “okay, awesome, stick around then. Finish cooking and all the jazz, I love eggs, eggs are awesome they’re high in protein and really good with cheese, and who doesn’t love cheese, right? So you do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and you just let me know when you’re done with that okay?”

While babbling, Stiles had been backing towards the door, making a conscious effort to keep his heart rate steady as he did so, and without waiting for an answer he ducks through it. He keeps his pace measured and even as he heads back to his room, and then scrambles around to find his phone, which he finds in the pocket of the jeans he’d been wearing the night before.

There’s no way he’ll get away with a phone call, not with werewolf hearing, so he thinks quickly and tries to figure out who’d be the most likely to respond to a text at – he checks the time on his phone – ten in the morning.

Definitely not Scott, and ever since Isaac, Erica, and Boyd graduated, they’re not typically awake before noon most days. He could try Allison, but there’s really there’s not a lot of room in his apartment if it were to come to a confrontation, and though she can protect herself, she does better when she can slink around and shoot at things from the shadows. It’s her specialty.

Derek then. And what’s best, he’s the alpha, which means he might be able to chase Michael off without any bloodshed.

He types out a quick text- _My plce, need hlp asap_ and then promptly turns his cell off. If it blows up with incoming calls and texts, which it will, he doesn’t want Michael to hear or see it. The renovated Hale house is about a twenty minute drive from Stiles’ apartment, so assuming Derek got the text immediately, he should be here in fifteen. All Stiles has to do is keep Michael from mauling him until then.

Stiles throws his phone on the bed and then glances around his room. Right, keep from getting mauled. He could probably chase Michael off on his own, if he really tried. There are a few tricks hidden up his sleeves, a few from Deaton and a few that are purely his own, but he figures if he gets Derek’s help with it the alpha might be more inclined to think Stiles really didn’t mean to bring the guy home, and therefore make him more likely to let Stiles off the hook.

Right, like that will happen. At the very least, he’ll get reamed a little less. 

Slipping the sweatpants off, Stiles changes into a pair of jeans and then pulls a shirt over his head, hissing a little when the fabric rubs against the bite. Then he grabs a few things from the bottom drawer of his dresser and reviews the layout of his apartment in his head. If he can get Michael into the dining room, which is nothing more than a little nook off the side of the kitchen, he can make a line of mountain ash over the one entrance and keep the wolf contained that way. There are no windows, so he won’t be able to escape, and the entry way is narrow enough that it’d only take him a few seconds to get the ash into place.

There’s a knock behind him, and Stiles jumps, turning to see Michael leaning against the door frame of his bedroom. He smiles and is happy to see that somewhere in the past two minutes, the wolf managed to find a pair of jeans to put on. They ride ridiculously low on his hips and actually make him hotter than he was while completely nude, but Stiles is grateful anyways. The nudeness had spoken of a familiarity and ease both with Stiles and his home that he hadn’t been comfortable with, at all.  

“Breakfast,” Michael says, nodding towards the plates in his hands.

“Great!” Stiles enthuses, maybe a little too brightly. “That’s awesome, I’m starving and food is great for hang overs, right? Not that I’m all that hung over, just a little bit. Why don’t we go eat in the dinning room?”

At the very least, his nervous babbling doesn’t seem to be tipping Michael off at all. Probably because Stiles babbles when he’s drunk too, it’s kind of a curse. The curse of the word vomit.

Michael says something and Stiles misses it, but he seems to be heading back towards the kitchen, so he figures his plan is probably working. He follows behind at a bit of a distance, watching as the werewolf moves easily down the hall, into the kitchen, and then into the dining room. He’s talking about something or other, his voice lilting with a soft cadence, and Stiles discreetly pulls the bottle of mountain ash out of his pocket and unscrews the top.

He’s only got about two inches left of the line when Michael finally notices. One second he’s talking, the next there’s a roar and Stiles is being thrown against the nearest wall, his head connecting painfully and a hand on his throat preventing him from sliding down and crumpling to the ground. He can’t help the pained whimper that escapes his lips.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull, huh?” Michael growls, leaning in close to bare his unnaturally sharp teeth right in Stiles’ face. “The fuck were you going to do? Trap me in there? Call your little pack to try and come rescue you?”

His fingers squeeze tightly, until spots are swimming in Stiles’ vision and he’s gasping for air, before they back off some and he’s able to breathe properly. He’s pretty sure he can feel the pinprick of claws as Michael swoops in closer and glides his mouth across Stiles’ cheek to his ear.

“I’ve got news for you, boy,” he breathes, low and menacing. “You’re _mine._ Do you understand? You belong to _me_ now, I _own your ass._ ”

Stiles thinks he might be trying to snarl something else, but while Michael was busy attempting to intimidate, he was wriggling his hand down to get into the pocket on his jeans. He dropped the mountain ash when the wolf attacked him, but he’d also grabbed- ah, yeah, there it is.

His fingers tighten around the glass vile, slipping it out before he pulls his arm back as far as he can (which admittedly isn’t very far considering he’s pinned against a wall), and then smashes it as hard as he can against Michael’s ribs.

The vile shatters that way it’s supposed to, into tiny pieces of glass so small they don’t imbed in the skin of his palm. The liquid inside splatters against the werewolf, and instantly there’s the scent of burned flesh, and Michael is howling, dropping Stiles in favor of pawing desperately at his side. It won’t last long, so Stiles sidles away and starts to head for his living room and from there his front door, but furious golden eyes pin in him place.

Michael is wolfed out, lips pulled back from his fangs and chest heaving. The wolfsbane concoction Stiles had put together is already starting to wear off, and the angry red burns along Michael’s side are starting to heal. He doesn’t bother with more threats or angry words, just drops his shoulders forward as if he’s going to run at Stiles and _roars._

Fortunately for Stiles, there’s an answering roar from behind him, one he definitely recognizes.

Huh, it’s only been ten minutes. A new record.

Derek grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him back, pushing Stiles behind himself. He’s wolfed out too, his eyes bright red as he stares Michael down.

Stiles knows exactly how terrifying Derek can be, so he’s not exactly surprised when Michael slumps a little and draws back. He doesn’t put away the weaponry, but he doesn’t make an active move towards them either, golden eyes flickering between Stiles and Derek and then back. All the while, there’s a threatening rumble emanating from the alpha’s chest.

Michael seems to seize onto Stiles after a moment. Though he doesn’t snarl, it looks like he dearly wants to when spits, “You _slut,_ you said you were single!” and then he slides his gaze over to Derek before either of them can react and continues.

“And you! What’s the matter, he won’t let you mark him like he let me?” His sneer speaks of contempt. “You lost your chance, _alpha._ I was the first to claim him. Even if you put your mark on him now, mine will still have been there first. ‘Course maybe you like sharing your mate, like him being slutty, that’d explain why-“ One second he’s speaking, the next Derek is there, lifting him by the throat and holding him in the air like he weighs next to nothing, claws digging into the thin flesh until blood streams down his forearm. It’s not enough to kill Michael, but it is a good warning.

Stiles can’t quite catch what Derek says, though he knows it involves a lot of growling, but then Michael’s eyes flash gold and the alpha releases him. The other werewolf glances at each of them one more time, and then high tails it out of the room. Distantly he hears his front door slam shut, and then feet pound down the hall away from his apartment, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Holy fuck,” he says, turning back to Derek, but his smile falters on his lips as he sees the look on Derek’s face. It’s not just pissed. No, the wolf has completely and totally moved beyond pissed and straight into one-word-and-I-will-fuck-up-your-entire-life-and-everyone-you-love territory. The rest of Stiles’ words die in his throat.

“Show me,” Derek growls, stalking forward looking ten times the predator Michael did and a hundred times hotter while doing it. Huh. Apparently Stiles danger kink doesn’t apply to all werewolves who try to kill him. Good to know. “Show me where he marked you.”

Blinking away _that_ particular realization, Stiles jerkily pulls his shirt over his head and then angles his left shoulder towards Derek to show him the bite mark. There are clear indentions of teeth, but for the most part they look human. The skin around them is red and raised though, and he’s positive it’ll fade into one hell of a bruise.

Something occurs to him, and because Stiles doesn’t have much of a sense of self-preservation, he looks up and blinks at Derek. “Hey, why did he call me your mate?”

The alpha had gotten closer when he wasn’t paying attention, and is now standing close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat coming off of his skin. His eyes still haven’t gone back to normal, but he’s no longer sporting side burns or claws as his gaze traces over the bite. At the question, his shoulders slump a bit, and he looks up at Stiles.

“Because you are.”

Yeah no, that? Doesn’t make a lick of sense. He says so, and Derek sighs, glancing away, though the angry stiff lines of his body have yet to fade.

“I didn’t know until recently,” he admits, “and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“What?”

Derek growls. “You’re my mate, Stiles. Werewolves, it’s not common, but when we mate it’s for life, which is why I didn’t bring it up to you yet. It’s a big commitment and I didn’t know how to ask that of you.”

Squinting a little, Stiles contemplates that and tries to ignore the fact that he’s standing shirtless in his kitchen with Derek Hale, who is currently dripping blood on his clean floor. It really, really shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

“So we’re talking a soulmate kind of thing, right?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“And you thought I wouldn’t be down for that?”

Derek actually looks a little confused by that, the poor self-deprecating bastard. “Well, no.”

“Jesus, dude, I’ve been crushing on you since I was sixteen,” Stiles says with an eye roll, though he can’t help the happy grin that splits his face. Because!! Derek!!! Likes him!! “Actually I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. That’s uh, that’s kinda what happened with Douchey McWerewolf, I think I picked him up thinking if I couldn’t have one werewolf I’d get another.”

There’s a flitter of emotions crossing Derek’s features, but he seems to settle on confusion. “You thought you couldn’t have me?” It quickly changes to anger though. “You picked up another werewolf on purpose?”

Stiles flinches a little, not missing how those last words had definitely dipped into a growl. “I mean, I don’t know for sure what happened. I was a little drunk. But yeah, I think I picked him up as a replacement for you. Either that or he followed me home, I honestly don’t know.”

A steady rumble builds in Derek’s chest, and he reaches up to press on the bite, glaring at it like maybe the force of his eyes alone will get it to fade away.  Stiles tries not to flinch away from the touch, but still grimaces. “He tried to claim you.”

“What does that mean?”

“He wanted you as his mate.”

Wait. “I thought you said I was your mate? Isn’t it like a one and only deal?”

Derek rolls his shoulders and huffs, like he’s uncomfortable with the discussion. “Not exactly. Werewolves have to initiate the bond themselves before they’re tied together for life. In certain cases, it can be kick started without the wolves, or wolf, noticing, which is considered to be rare and it makes the bond a lot stronger. That’s what happened with us, I didn’t know you were my mate and that we were bonded until recently. I haven’t claimed you though, so it’s not complete.”

“And then that dick came along and tried to claim me first?”

Stiles can see the way Derek’s features tighten in anger before he forcibly smoothes them out again, and nods his head. Chewing his bottom lip, Stiles glances between the bite on his shoulder, and then Derek. “I’m assuming it didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. And he shouldn’t have done it without asking you first. Couples date for a long time before they ever mate, it’s a big commitment.”

“Except for those whose bond forms naturally.”

“Right.”

“So…” There’s a nervous twisting in his gut, but Stiles figures this is kind of the best chance he’s ever going to get, so might as well go for it. Besides, Derek did just admit to liking him. He shuffles a little closer, until their chests are brushing, and slides his hand up Derek’s bicep to his shoulder. “Do you want to then? Claim me that is?”

Derek’s eyes flash red, and he makes a noise like he’s been punched in the gut. “Stiles, you can’t just- this is really serious.”

“I know, soulmates, bonds, all serious business,” Stiles agrees easily, and trails his hand up to the wolf’s neck, stroking his thumb along that perfect jaw line. “But I did tell you that I’ve had feelings for you for six years, right? Because I have.  And that I had sex with another werewolf because it was the closest thing I could get to you? I’m pretty serious about this too, Derek.”

The effect is almost instantaneous; Stiles is being pushed back against his kitchen counter for the second time that day (only under much happier circumstances) and Derek is looming over him, eyes not only flashing to red but staying there, a steady hunger in their depths. “Do you mean that?” he rasps, and woah. He sounds wrecked. Derek’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Do you really mean that. You want me to claim you?”

Yes. Fuck yes. Si. Oui. Ja. Ken. Sim. Jes. Hai. Ndiyo. _God,_ yes.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, and just like, they’re kissing.

Michael’s mouth was hard and insistent, demanding, but Derek is a mixture of harsh and soft. He presses Stiles’ lips open with care, sweeps his tongue inside like he’s _tasting_ Stiles, sucks on Stiles’ tongue, but then scrapes his teeth over it and bites into his bottom lip hard enough to make Stiles moan. And, fuck, are those fangs?

Stiles pulls back just enough to check, and, yeah, Derek is wolfed out. He raises an eyebrow, and Derek seems to realize it too.

“Sorry,” he says, and he looks like he’s concentrating, trying to shift back. “You drive me crazy, it’s hard to- I can’t-“

“Hey.” Grabbing Derek’s face between his hands, Stiles smoothes his palms over rough stubble and smiles. “It’s okay, I like your wolf face.” He leans in and kisses Derek again, giving back just as good as he got, until its filthy and they’re both gasping into the hot air between them.  He slides his tongue up each of the werewolf’s elongated teeth, loving the sharp edge of them and how Derek shivers and whines, hands grabbing at his waist to pull Stiles closer.

“Oh,” Stiles says, regretfully putting space between them again as something occurs to him. “The uh, claiming? Yeah, I want that, but what is it exactly? You’re not gonna like, bite the mark he put on me, right? ‘Cause it kinda really hurts right now and a little pain can be sexy, but that’s _a lot_ and I’m really not down for that.”

It’s a little distracting that Derek’s eyes are mostly pupil, only a thin ring of red showing around the black, and the fact that he’s panting harshly, like he’s trying to control himself. “That would be one way,” he admits. “But we don’t have to do that. Since I’m an alpha I could…do you know what a knot is?”

There’s a bookmark on Stiles’ laptop that says he knows _exactly_ what that word means, and he can’t help but blush a little. Looks like he won’t need that dildo after all. “I thought that was just made up? You can really-?”

Derek looks decidedly uncomfortable once more, and his hands tighten and loosen where he’s holding onto Stiles’ hips. “It’s how alpha’s claim their mates.”

A low current of arousal, stronger than what he’d already been feeling, curls in Stiles’ belly. He glances down Derek’s body, and then back up again, and tries to control his breathing. God, it’s like all of his fantasies are coming true at once. “How big is it?”

His breathy tone makes Derek cock an eyebrow at him. “My dick or my knot?”

Stiles bites his lip before he can moan at that. My knot. _My knot._ Fuck. He surges up, kissing Derek again and throwing one leg around the wolf’s waist, trying to shimmy his way up onto the counter behind him with actually having to jump. “Don’t- care-“ he says in between kisses. “Just- want- both.”

It takes Derek a moment to get with the program but then he’s growling low in his throat and kissing Stiles back likes he’s starved for it. He slips his hands under Stiles’ thighs, until both legs are around his waist, and then sets him down on the edge of the counter. “Fuck,” he groans, abandoning Stiles’ mouth to kiss and nip down his neck.

Stiles arches it happily for him, threading his fingers in dark hair and urging the other man on with little whines whenever he hits a particularly good spot. Thankfully, Derek ignores his left shoulder, but he does suck big red marks into his right one, as if competing for the amount of skin covered. Stiles doesn’t mind.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, mind whirling, and now that his mouth isn’t occupied he can feel himself start to babble. “Jesus Derek, I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen. Wanted you to fuck me, bet you’re a rough fuck, hold me down and keep me there. And _god_ I didn’t know if knotting was a real thing or not but it was in all my fantasies. There’s this website called bad dragon, they sell these huge dildos based off of animals, and one of them is supposed to be a werewolf. It’s got this big ass knot at the bottom, and I was going to buy it, gonna imagine you fucking me, knotting me, filling me up-“

He’s cut off by Derek’s low groan, “ _Fuck,_ Stiles,” and then there are lips on his again, nothing soft about the way the werewolf fucks into his mouth this time.

Stiles is dizzy when they break away, but he’s got a handful of Derek’s hair, and he pulls on it as breathes, “Bed.”

The hands on his thighs lift again, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he carries him through the apartment, not even bothering to look. He just kisses Stiles again, and then throws him down onto his mattress. Stiles doesn’t have any time to bounce, because Derek is just _there,_ pressing him down with his body.

Stiles moans, doesn’t bother unwinding his legs from around Derek’s hips, but when he reaches up to meet the wolf for another kiss, Derek moves back. A whine pulls itself from Stiles’ throat, but Derek is moving down his body, nosing at his throat, his chest, down the center line of his barely existent abs to dip his tongue into Stiles’ bellybutton. That probably shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but Stiles shivers and feels his stomach clench pleasantly.

“You smell like him,” Derek huffs, hot breath hitting wet flesh making Stiles shiver again. “Your bed smells like him, your whole damn apartment, I can’t stand it.”

“I’ll buy some febreeze,” Stiles deadpans, then gets a hand under Derek’s chin so he can make the werewolf look up at him. Surprisingly, his eyes are back to their normal hazel-green. “Do you need to do that scenting thing you do? Because it’s cool if you do.”

Derek groans, drags his nose back up Stiles’ chest and pauses to tease one nipple into hardness with his mouth, and then the other. When he finally has them pressed chest to chest, groin to groin once more, he still doesn’t kiss Stiles, but presses his mouth to his jaw so that when the werewolf speaks, his lips drag against the skin there. It’s stupidly hot, just like everything Derek does.

“It’s not just-“ he says, pauses and seems to gather his thoughts for a moment. “You don’t just smell like him, it’s like the claiming almost took, your scents are all mingled. I don’t like it.”

Stiles can’t help running his fingers through Derek’s hair, and he gives a soft hum. “Sounds like you need to get this show on the road and claim me then. I’ll smell like you after that, right?”

If the rumbling noise in Derek’s throat is anything to go by, that’d be a yes. He feels fangs, suddenly, against his jaw, and a scrape of course hair, but then Derek is jerking away from him looking kind of dazed. He’s wolfed out again and really it should be kind of scary that he’s having such a hard time controlling himself, but Stiles is more flattered and aroused than anything else. He’s fucked up, he gets it.

“I already told you I like you when you’re all furry too,” Stiles says, reaching down to grab one of Derek’s hands in his own. His claws are out, sharp black and curved against his fingers. “Pointy bits and all.”

The werewolf looks a little dubious about that, and like maybe he wants to object, but Stiles pulls his hand up and pops one those claws into his mouth to surprise him into silence. It works of course, and he swirls his tongue along the sharp edges, pressing at the pad of Derek’s finger before pulling back and letting it rest against his bottom lip, indenting it.

“I’m going to say this once, just so you know exactly how okay with all of this I am,” he states. “I have a massive fucking werewolf kink. I was going to spend eighty dollars on a dildo with a knot, Derek, if you think I find your fangs and super strength anything but ridiculously hot, you’ve got another thing coming.”  

Derek doesn’t say anything, but his eyes bleed red, slowly, like he’s testing the waters and hasn’t been flashing them since the moment he arrived. Stiles smiles against the claw still on his mouth. It presses down, a soft pressure, before dipping between his lips and Stiles loses his grin to focus on sucking on the digit and keeping his eyes locked with Derek’s. Another finger joins the first, the claws careful as they scrape across his tongue, pin it to the bottom of his mouth before letting him lave against them.

Derek’s gaze is intense, focused, pining Stiles to the mattress even if the weight of him sitting on Stiles’ hips wasn’t already doing just that. He hasn’t changed back yet, and Stiles is pleased he finally got through to him because yeah, regular sex would have been fucking amazing but this is even _better._

To say Stiles has an oral fixation is a bit of an understatement, and when a third finger slips along his tongue, he can’t help the way he moans and his eyes flutter shut. He thinks he hears Derek make some kind of noise, something low and hungry, but he’s too busy sucking on his fingers and loving the way they’re just wide enough, all together, to keep his mouth open around them.

Derek pulls them away, much to Stile’s chagrin, but he can’t deny that he’s unhappy the werewolf is using the opportunity to strip. He even wiggles off the bed for a second to push his jeans, followed by his briefs, down, and Stiles lifts his hips off the bed to kick off his own with excitement.

He’s seen Derek shirtless before (who hasn’t?) but never completely in the nude. It’s a sight so glorious Stiles thinks he might need to build a shrine to it in his closet, and judging by the weird look on the werewolf’s face, he said that out loud.

Stiles shrugs, unrepentant. “What? You’re porn star level hot here. I mean, look at your dick. How fucking long is that, eight inches? Nine? Jesus, get that thing over here already, I want to taste it.”

Derek’s cock really is a thing of beauty, thick and long and fucking uncut like Stiles may or may not have been praying for it to be, all velvet-looking skin and glistening pre-cum right at the tip. Can you blame him for making grabby hands at it?

Levering himself to his knees, Stiles shuffles to the edge of the bed and then perches there, reaching out to grab Derek by the hips and bring him forward.

Derek looks punch-drunk, all wide, hot eyes and hot fingers against Stiles’ face, the claws still out but held carefully away from him.

The moment Stiles gets a hand around that beautiful fucking dick, he moans, sliding his fingers up and down and delighting in the foreign way the skin shifts under his touch. It’s just as soft as it looks, but iron hard underneath, and it jumps in his grip when Stiles breathes over the head.

Stiles looks up through his lashes at Derek, stroking him at leisurely pace, and can’t help smirking in a way that previous bed partners have described as _filthy_. “Seriously, how long are you? I need to know. And how big does your knot get? You’re already thick as fuck, you better be glad I’m into that by the way, your knot will probably be as big around as a damn can of coke. Oh, there’s a thought. Can you knot my mouth? Is that something we can do? That sounds fucking hot.”

“Jesus, _Stiles,_ ” Derek groans, throwing his head back so that Stiles has a great view of his arched throat bobbing before he looks down again. “You can’t keep saying shit like that, not if you want me to last at all.”

Stiles pouts. He really wants to get his mouth all up on that, but he settles for swiping a quick taste of the beaded pre-cum gathered in Derek’s slit. They both moan, Derek from Stiles’ tongue, but Stiles from the salty, musky _taste._

There’s a hand on his shoulder then, pushing him back down to the bed as Derek growls. “What did I just say? I can’t claim you if I come too soon.”

Choosing to read that as ‘Blow-jobs later, fucking now’, Stiles scoots his way up the bed and pulls Derek with him, until his head is propped on his pillows and Derek is on all fours over him. He’s not much in comparison with Derek so close, all pale skin and long limbs, but the werewolf’s gaze on his body is hot as he arches his back to reach for the bedside table.

“Lube. First drawer,” he says, and then takes the bottle when Derek hands it to him. For a moment he eyes Derek’s claws before he decides he’d rather not take that risk, he gets off on danger but that’s just asking for trouble, and pops the cap.

Their kisses are slow and dragging as Stiles slicks his fingers up and presses them down between his legs. The first slides in easily enough, as does the second, but that’s when he realizes he’s still kind of sore from whatever he and Michael had done the night before. It’s not bad, just a dull ache at the base of his spine, and when he works a third finger in and presses down on his prostate, the pleasure is enough to override it. The idea that he can mark over that pain though, feel Derek for the next few days instead of some douche, spikes heat through him, so that he’s squirming down onto his fingers and whimpering into Derek’s mouth.

Derek pulls away, kissing down his neck with sharp little nips, and then glancing down at where Stiles is working is fingers into his body and breathes deeply. “Can I watch?”

Stiles bites his lip but nods, flushes when Derek leans back on his heels and stares with rapt attention. His eyes have been flickering between green and red, but they’re burning scarlet now, claws placed carefully on his knees, fangs tucked behind his lips, the picture of restraint. Stiles wants to break it.

Planting his feet on the bed, Stiles arches his back again, rolling his hips as he fucks himself on his fingers. He lets small moans slip between his lips, knows his eyes are heavy lidded while he watches Derek watch him, that he’s flushed pink down his chest and that there’s lube on his thighs and slipping down his ass.

He knows he’s finally broken some of Derek’s control when the wolf slides onto his stomach and presses his face into the crease of Stiles’ hip.  For a moment he just feels puffs of damp breath there, and then Derek is nosing down, pressing sucking kisses to his balls and then right behind them. It limits Stiles’ movements with his hand so he has to slow down but that’s totally worth when Derek licks at the fingers buried in himself, presses his tongue between them to get at Stiles’ rim and then inside him.

“Fuck,” Stiles whines, throwing his head back against his pillow. He keeps his fingers still, but it’s more than enough to feel them stretching him open, and then Derek’s tongue pushing him wider. When the wolf guides it in, he adds a fourth finger, moans even more at how full he feels and how much fuller he knows he’ll be later.

“You smell like him here too,” Derek mumbles, sounding displeased, but then he’s licking and jabbing with renewed ferocity and Stiles is arching his back, free hand tightening in the sheets.

“Derek,” he moans, “ _Derek,_ I’m gonna come, fuck-“ His words are cut off by a low groan, his whole body shivering as cum splatters his belly, hot against his skin. Shit, and his dick hadn’t even been touched. Slowly, his muscles unlock and he sinks back down to the mattress, letting Derek shuffle away from him and then pulling his fingers out of his body slowly. He feels empty without them but couldn’t voice a complaint even if he tried, he’s that blissed out. Then Derek starts lapping at his stomach, cleaning him up, and Stiles’ pleasant afterglow kicks up another notch because _wow that feels good._

Threading a hand through Derek’s hair, Stiles looks down at the werewolf and smiles. “Holy shit,” he sighs. “That was fucking awesome.”

Derek makes a noise that’s suspiciously like a purr, noses at Stiles’ stomach. “You’re starting to smell better.”

“Mm, that’s a good thing, right?”

“Very good. Not finished yet though.”

Stiles laughs and pulls lightly on Derek’s hair until the wolf leans up to kiss him. He smiles again when they break apart. “You better not be. I’m still waiting to be fucked, big guy.”

“Yeah?” There are fingers dipping down behind his balls, lower, tracing the edges of his loose hole with just the hint of sharp claws.

“Mmhmm.” Stiles loops one arm around Derek’s neck and pulls him down for another kiss, turning it dirty and hard the first chance he gets. Derek groans over him, keeps tracing Stiles’ entrance until Stiles is shivering and trying to push into the touch.

He whines, high in his throat, desperate. “Derek, c’mon. You gonna fuck me or what? Get that dick of yours in me already, I’ve been waiting years for this.”

Derek huffs a laugh but then does the exact opposite of what Stiles wants and moves away. “How do you want to-?” he asks, gesturing between them and Stiles calms his sex crazed thoughts for a second to consider the question.

“From behind? Or I could ride you. How long does your knot last by the way? I think that’s an important thing to consider here.”

There’s the beginnings of a dark red stain just under Derek’s cheekbones and Stiles can’t help but laugh. “You don’t know, do you?”

“If I’d ever knotted someone before, I wouldn’t be here right now,” the werewolf grumbles, and Stiles sits up to kiss his cheek in apology.

“It’s fine, I’m glad.” Stiles grins widely and wiggles a little where he’s sitting. “I get to be your first!”

Derek rolls his eyes, and he looks pretty pissy, but there’s a faint curl around the edge of his mouth so Stiles knows he isn’t actually mad. “Just make up your mind,” he growls.

Honestly Stiles is a big fan of both positions, but he thinks he’d really like to see Derek’s face the first time they do this. Also, if he’s going to be tied to him for any amount of time, it’d be more comfortable to lay on top of the werewolf instead of the other way around.

“Riding,” he says decisively.

One second he’s sitting next to Derek on the bed, the next Derek’s on his back, pulling Stiles close to straddle him. He does so with a grin, sits himself on Derek’s hips so that his cock curves up and brushes against Stiles’ ass. Oh yeah, this is definitely going to work. He’s got a great view of Derek’s phenomenal abs and he plans on bracing himself on them so that he can totally blow the werewolf’s mind.

“Where’d the lube go?”

Derek digs it out of the blankets and passes it to him, and Stiles uses it to slick of the wolf’s cock, humming a little at the feeling of having it in his hand again. God he loves this dick. Derek too. But especially his penis.

Cocking an eyebrow, Stiles lifts himself up onto his knees and positions himself. “Ready?” he asks, and Derek’s hands smooth up his thighs to settle on his hips. Mmm, he likes those hands too.

“Ready.”

Stiles sinks down slowly, gasping when the head finally pops inside him, and then again when he feels himself settle completely flush with Derek. Holy _shit._

“Holy shit. You’re fucking huge, dude.” And it is _awesome._ He’s never felt quite so full, and he spends a moment just breathing, feeling all the heat and hardness inside him. Then he rolls his hips a little, and both he and Derek groan in unison.

“Stiles,” Derek grinds out, his fingers so tight on Stiles’ hips that he’s sure to have bruises in the morning. Or, well, more bruises. Michael already marked him, and come to think of it, that’s probably why Derek’s holding him so tight, trying to put his own mark on top of the other werewolf’s. He thinks about sharing his thought about the pain, about the ache he’s going to feel and how he wants Derek’s to cancel out Michael’s, but he gets side tracked when Derek rocks up into him.

“Oh fuck.” Stiles lets himself fall forward, putting his elbows beside Derek’s head so that he can lean down and kiss him, letting the werewolf continue to rock up into him in harder and harder increments. He feels Derek’s hands trail back, pulling his ass cheeks apart and brushing against Stiles’ hole, like he wants to feel himself sliding into Stiles, wants to feel where they’re connected. It makes him feel kinda warm and fuzzy but also hot in the pit of his stomach, so that he starts rolling his hips back to meet Derek’s thrust, until the sound of slapping skin is loud between them.

“God you feel good,” Derek murmurs the second Stiles has to stop kissing him so that he can breathe. Stiles smiles down at him, pecks him on the lips before pushing up onto his knees. He spends a moment bouncing down onto Derek’s cock, but his thighs are already starting to tremble, so he knows that isn’t going to last long. Leaning back, he put his hands on Derek’s thighs instead, knowing that it arches his back and lets his dick sit heavy and hot against his stomach in an attractive way. Sure enough, as Stiles starts to grind his hips in small little circles, Derek’s hands are smoothing up his chest, down his torso, slipping softly over his cock without giving him any real friction. He’s not sure when he got hard again exactly, but hell if he’s complaining.

Stiles groans and throws his head back, switching to little jerks of his hips so that Derek’s cock slips in and out of him and along his prostate. “Jesus,” he sighs, feels Derek pinch at his nipples so that he moans again, louder this time. “Fucking hell Derek, I’m so _full,_ your fucking _cock._ ”

The growl Derek lets out vibrates up through Stiles’ body, and he decides he fucking loves the sensation. Derek grabs his wrists and pulls him forward, so that Stiles is draped over him again and Derek can thrust up into him, harder and faster this time so that Stiles’ breath stutters out of his chest.

“Not full yet,” Derek mumbles, pressing his nose into Stiles’ neck to breath deep, and then sliding up to speak directly into his ear. “Not full yet, not until you’ve got my knot and my cum in you, swollen with it, fucking bursting.”

The sound Stiles makes is embarrassingly high and desperate. “Oh god, oh god _please,_ Derek, fuck you gotta-“

He can feel Derek shift underneath him, probably pulling his knees up and getting his feet flat against the bed, judging by the way his hips surge up. He hammers into Stiles with new intensity, until Stiles is babbling and whining and begging and the only thing holding him up are Derek’s hands on his sides, his mouth at his ear, whispering filthy promises to him about how wide he’s going to stretch Stiles, how he’s going to claim him, mate him, _mount_ him.

His dick is caught between their bodies, pre-cum smearing on both his and Derek’s stomachs. He’s not paying attention to the friction there though, he’s feeling the way Derek is pounding into his prostate, the drag of his cock inside him, how fucking open he feels and how bright all of his nerve endings are burning. Derek’s skin is hot and slick with sweat everywhere they touch, and everywhere they’re not touching cool air moves against his body, a striking counter-point and Jesus fuck air should not feel good but it _does,_ there’s not an inch of Stiles right now that isn’t alive with blinding pleasure.

Derek throws his head back suddenly, a rumbling noise that’s not quite a growl and almost a whine spilling from his throat, and Stiles can feel the way the base of his dick is getting bigger, wider. It catches on his rim on every thrust, pulls, until finally Derek slams into him one last time and stays there, shuddering through an orgasm so intense that his eyes are closed tight and his claws are digging almost painfully into Stiles’ skin.

Stiles shakes with him, feeling the way the wolf’s cock pulses, the stretch of the knot and the way his body tries to accommodate its massive size. It’s not comfortable, that’s for certain, but the pure knowledge of what’s happening, and the almost molten feeling of cum deep inside him is enough to tip him right over the edge. He spills between their bodies, and it’s so intense Stiles feels like he’s flying apart, breaking at the seams.

When he comes back to himself he’s warm and relaxed, stretching over Derek’s body, who is making another soft purring sound. Stiles shifts a little, and he can feel the knot still buried in his ass but now that he’s not clamping down on it, it’s not so uncomfortable. He’s still incredibly full, and there’s a wet sensation inside him, coupled with a soft pulsing.

“Are you still coming?” Stiles asks incredulously. He tries to push himself up on his elbows to look Derek in the face, but A) Derek’s arms are tight around his waist, and B) his own arms are limp fucking noodles and they’re not supporting even a fraction of his weight any time soon. He settles for turning his head and setting his chin on Derek’s sternum instead. It gives him a better view of the underside of the wolf’s chin more than anything else, but he’ll take it.

The werewolf gives a pleased sounding hum, and when he glances down at Stiles his eyes are glowing a warm ember red. “Told you I’d fill you up.”

Stiles laughs, and wiggles a little, making himself comfortable on Derek’s chest. It’s not the best position, what with the can sized dick up his ass and the cum drying between them, but he’s happy and sated and feeling pretty damned loved thanks to the way Derek keeps looking at him. It’s fucking fantastic.

Fingertips smooth over his left shoulder, and at first he doesn’t think anything of it. Then he realizes he isn’t feeling any pain, and he twists, trying to look. The only thing he finds is skin marked only by freckles, and Derek’s hand smoothing over it.

“His mark is gone.”

Derek’s purr thing gets louder, like he’s pleased with himself. He snuffles behind Stiles’ ears, licks a wet stripe there before burying his face in Stiles hair. “Yeah. His claim is gone, you’re mine now.”

Mine. Stiles likes the sound of that.

“Yours,” he agrees easily, relaxing again. “And you’re mine, right?”

“Of course.”

Stiles falls asleep after that, head pillowed on his arms, and is glad they did this in his apartment rather than Derek’s. They’d have already been interrupted if they’d been at the Hale house.

He wakes up when he feels Derek finally soften enough to slip out of him, and the resulting gush of cum down his thighs that follows. He shifts uncomfortably at the sensation and the dull ache that’s even worse now than when he’d woken up. He’s lose and sloppy and half asleep and he almost doesn’t notice the way Derek slips out from underneath him and moves away. The only reason he does notice is because the wolf is suddenly behind him, holding him open to watch cum slide lazily out of his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder, but Derek just takes him by the hips (mottled with bruises, fuck yes) and flips him over on the mattress. Stiles immediately notices the way his lower stomach is distended slightly; it can’t even be called a bump, but it’s enough of a difference that Derek sees it too.

“What is-“

The wolf smiles, all sharp teeth and predator, and puts his palm flat on the bump, pushing down. The resulting slickness between Stiles’ legs catches him by surprise and he huffs.

“Is that all fucking cum?”

“My cum, yeah,” Derek says, voice deep and guttural, but he’s not looking up at Stiles anymore, he’s busy pulling one of Stiles’ legs up onto his shoulder. He hooks his thumbs around Stiles’ over sensitive hole and pulls him open, and really Stiles is a little concerned about the size of the wet spot growing underneath him.

“Fucking werewolves,” he mutters.

The werewolf in question doesn’t even glance up, he just settles onto his stomach and noses at Stiles’ ass. Stiles is about to protest when that wicked tongue starts lapping at him slowly, soothing the sting of his stretched out rim and licking up cum like it’s a fucking delicacy.

Stiles whimpers, legs spreading on instinct to push his ass back towards Derek’s face. His whining and whimpering grows in volume the longer Derek laps up his own cum, the further that tongue presses into his lose body, the more those lips seal around him and _suck_ , trying to pull every last drop out.

Twenty minutes later he’s crying, hands fisted into the sheets, Derek’s palms warm against the small of his back to hold him down, when he finally comes for a third and final time. The bump is gone from his stomach, and after Derek licks up Stiles’ cum from his stomach once again, he seems content to cuddle up once more, kissing Stiles to share the taste of them both.

“I can’t believe you made me come three times in a row,” Stiles mutters against his lips, and Derek huffs, though it sounds faintly pleased. The wolf may or may not reply, Stiles doesn’t know because he slips back into sleep.

Michael who?


End file.
